Blessings and Curses
by TutorGirlml
Summary: MorganGarcia, oneshot, after the events of Lucky Morgan finds himself struggling with his demons and then realizing that he might have waited too long to tell Garcia how he really feels


(Just a little one-shot to vent my ideas of how things should play out after the cliffhanger last week. I realize of course that I don't own "Criminal Minds" and it won't go the way I'm going to have it work out in this, but, hey, a girl can dream! Hope you enjoy! Oh, and spoilers for "Lucky" if you didn't see it last week!)

Blessings and Curses

By: TutorGirlml

The barest hints of light from the full moon outside filtered in through the stained glass windows to just barely touch all down the sides of the church sanctuary. The silence and the near-darkness cloaking him here didn't bother Derek Morgan at all as he sat alone in territory that had once been familiar, but had only taunted him like a mocking stranger for many years now. Instead, he found the quiet and the fact that there was no one else around comforting. If he was going to hash out all the conflicting thoughts and emotions being here dredged up, then he certainly didn't want company.

Morgan found himself now, at nearly midnight, two days before Thanksgiving, in his childhood church and wrestling with what to do. He had for been unable to bow his head and pray, something that had once been as natural to him as breathing, for what seemed like ages. What he'd gone through with Carl Buford - what he felt like God had left him to suffer through alone – had made it nearly impossible to speak to a Heavenly Father who seemed to have stopped listening.

And yet, here he was tonight. He didn't know just what had drawn him, only that he'd felt he should come. So as soon as they got off the jet back in Quantico, he had headed here. Something about this last case had triggered the pain and bitter sense of betrayal all over again. Though he didn't know what good being here would do, he'd followed his gut instincts just the same.

What Reid had said when they'd first headed to Florida wouldn't leave his mind, something along the lines of, "If you're going to believe in the good, logic dictates you also have to believe in the bad." The fact that Rossi had echoed the sentiment just a couple of hours ago only made it rankle and weigh on him even more. Could it be that he'd been so wrong all this time? That it wasn't God who'd let Buford's sick abuse happen, but God who'd instead watched over him through it, made sure he survived and pressed on to find strength he would never otherwise have known he had? Morgan had spent so much time thinking that the God he'd believed in as a desperate thirteen-year-old boy had turned his back on him at the worst time in his life… But had God really been pulling him along ever since, trying to show him that he wanted him to succeed despite his pain and shame, wanted him to come back home for healing?

Still sitting in the dark of the very last pew, Morgan hadn't moved for hours as he wrestled over his questions, searching within for the faith he suddenly realized he wanted back, when his felt his cell vibrating at his waist. Reaching for it immediately, he expected it to be Hotch with a new case – and he was almost relieved for the distraction, the chance to put this soul-searching off until later.

"This is Morgan," he answered briskly, only to be surprised by a business-like male voice informing him that it was the local hospital. They wanted to know if he was Special Agent Derek Morgan, they had Penelope Garcia in the ER. Morgan felt all the blood drain from his face as the voice continued, telling him that she'd been brought in suffering from a gunshot wound and subsequent massive blood loss; they'd called him since his was the name listed as her emergency contact.

Morgan barely barked out a response that he was on his way before he was up and running, back down the aisle and out into the cold November night. Peeling out of the parking lot, he left the church rapidly behind in his rush to get to her, his questions – and his doubts – only multiplying…

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Within the hour, Morgan was at the hospital and already pacing the waiting room, his long stride tense and fast, back and forth on the tracked-up linoleum floor, like that of a caged tiger stalking with pent-up anxiousness, waiting to pounce. He had already called Hotch, who'd promised to let the rest of the team know and be there as shortly as he could. Morgan hadn't known much more than the bare basics to tell his boss, but he'd immediately suspected this mysterious stranger she'd met in that coffee shop and had passed that information along to Hotch so that angle could be investigated.

With a growl of frustration and overwhelming sense of helplessness at being unable to do anything for her, he finally flung himself into the nearest chair dejectedly, his head dropping into his hands. He was focusing on taking deep breaths and not trying to tear apart everything in the waiting room just to distract himself, when he heard someone call his name.

Glancing up quickly, he saw a doctor standing before him, a grim look on his lined and tired-looking face. Morgan stood quickly, feeling like he was about to be sentenced with either forgiveness or punishment.

"Are you Derek Morgan?" the older man asked.

"Yes, I am," Morgan replied. "What can you tell me about Penelope? Is she alright? Can I see her?"

"Well, she's still unconscious right now. The gunshot went through her shoulder cleanly, but she lost a lot of blood. She was lying on her front sidewalk bleeding out before another tenant in her apartment complex came home, found her there, and called the ambulance. She hasn't shown any sign of regaining consciousness yet, and it was touch and go by the time she got here. We nearly lost her on the table a couple times during surgery."

Morgan felt his mind reel backwards at the mental image of someone pulling a gun out and shooting Garcia, then leaving her there to die; bleeding, helpless, and alone. She was a tough cookie, that much he knew, but the thought of her lying on the cold sidewalk, with a bullet hole through her shoulder, unable to get up or find anyone to help her, was almost more than he could stand. He should have told her why he'd really been bothered by the man in the coffee shop asking her out. He should have been there to protect her. He clenched his fists tightly to quell the sudden urge to hit something. He couldn't focus on that now; he needed to see her, to let her know that he was here now.

"Is she going to make it though? Were you able to get her stabilized? Will I be able to see her?" he pressed, feeling completely at the doctor's mercy as he pelted him with questions.

"Ms. Garcia is stabilized, for the moment at least. We'll know more about her prognosis when she regains consciousness, but I am tentatively hopeful for her recovery, as long as she does wake back up within the next 36 hours."

"Please, is there any way I can…" Derek started again, feeling like a broken record, but this time the doctor cut him off.

"In my opinion, she won't wake up for several hours, her body desperately needs to rest and heal. But it can't really hurt anything either, so yes, Agent Morgan, you can see her. Follow me, and I'll take you to her room."

After the noise, bustle, and near-claustrophobic surroundings of the ER waiting room, Penelope's room seemed even quieter and smaller than it would have anyway as Derek followed the doctor in. He nodded without really listening as the doctor explained that he could talk to her if he wanted, though medical minds were divided over whether people could really hear anything while in an unconscious state, and waited impatiently for the man to leave. He wanted to be alone with her. Needed just to be close to her and consider the blessing that she was at least still alive and fighting to hang in there.

Finally, he was standing by himself beside her bed. She was so still. Derek had never seen her look so small and vulnerable. Ashamed of his sudden weakness, he felt tears prickling at the edges of his eyes, which he struggled to blink away. Pulling up a chair from along the wall, he positioned it so he could sit down right at her elbow and brushed a golden curl off her cheek before taking her motionless hand in his.

"C'mon, Baby Girl," he whispered, his voice sticking stubbornly in the back of his throat. "I need you to open those eyes of yours and look at me." Her unresponsive silence was nearly his undoing. He wanted to gather her up in his arms and somehow transfer his strength; to heal her wounds and fix what was broken. Suddenly, all he could remember was that the last thing he'd said to her had hurt her, and made her angry. "I never meant to hurt you, Sweetness. You have to know that. Any man with a lick of sense would want to ask you out and count himself lucky if you accepted. That wasn't the problem I had with this guy…" Morgan bowed his head without finishing the explanation she couldn't respond to anyway. Instead, he kissed her hand and laid his head down on the bed beside her, vowing not to leave until she woke to hear his apology.

Before he fitfully drifted off in exhaustion, he found himself offering up the best attempt at a prayer he could muster. "Lord, I don't know why I'm asking after all this time. I don't even know if you're hearing me or not. But you've gotta take care of this woman here. She's the one thing in my life that makes it feel like the curse I've been living under has been lifted. She didn't deserve this…and I don't know what I'd do without her…"

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The next morning, he woke to the sunlight piercing right into his eyes and a persistent, light tickling sensation on his cheek. Squinting up from where his head lay on his folded arms, Morgan was suddenly jolted back into wakefulness when his eyes met the comforting, familiar gaze he'd been terrified he wouldn't see again. Garcia was awake, watching him as her clumsily groggy hand reached out to stroke his cheek.

"Hey, Baby Girl," he whispered, his voice awed as he simply stared at her, unable to believe she was back with him, "Good morning."

"I'll show you a good morning, Hot Stuff," she croaked, grinning lopsidedly as she painstakingly strung together her usual greeting.

Morgan couldn't help the full-bodied laughter that bubbled up from deep inside him as relief seeped through every pore of his body. She was going to be just fine, just a few little words from her full, red lips and he knew. Grasping her hand tightly and pulling it to his chest, he looked deep into her eyes, needing to say this to her before he lost his nerve. "I'm so sorry, Pen," he blurted out, holding her eyes and begging her to know he meant every word. "You're more than worthy of the best man this world has to offer. I didn't mean to say otherwise. I just didn't like hearing about this other guy. I was jealous, I'll admit it. But since I'd never let you know how I felt, I didn't know what to say to keep you from seeing him. I was wrong. You wouldn't be in this mess if I'd just been honest."

For some reason that was nearly unfathomable to him, she let out a little chuckle at this. "You're not the only one who let their feelings lead them to say some things they didn't mean," she answered. "I completely flew off the handle at you when you were only trying to help. If I hadn't been so eager to go against my better judgement just to spite you, he couldn't have gotten to me."

Now that they'd both finally just spoken their minds, the rest seemed fall into place almost effortlessly. The hurt feelings and their fight were forgotten in the wake of her simply surviving to have this conversation. Reaching out to brush aside the fringe of her soft, blond bangs with his fingers, Morgan's touch caressed her forehead, before cradling the side of her face. "So does that mean you forgive me, Goddess of Infinite Knowledge and Beauty?"

"I might consider it, my handsome and willing subject," she murmured, watching his every movement, completely mesmerized as his face inched closer to hers. Realizing that he was moving in to kiss her, just as she had imagined he would in countless daydreams for longer than she could remember, she let out a contented sigh, for a moment not even feeling the pain in her shoulder and the disorientation that had come with waking up.

Just before his lips claimed hers and he surrendered himself to pleasant and grateful oblivion, Morgan felt his doubts finally quiet and subside. After all this time, if it had taken all he'd been through to get here – to this moment with her – then he was thankful, for both his blessings and his curses.


End file.
